We have a winner! Phil Wilson, who commented “The officer was shocked to see what Britney Spears looked like without makeup,” was the favorite chosen by myself and the best friend. The runner up is Connie at The Young and The Relentless, which may be my new favorite blog name, who wrote, “Jim Bob had no idea it was against the law to wear his wife’s swim suit to McDonalds.”

The best friend e-mailed me this awesome Kodak moment yesterday that was captured in our hometown. Girl, please warn me the next time you send me something this hilarious while I’m at the office.

It has all the icons of sleepy small Southern town America and Jerry Springer: tattoos, cellulite, McDonald’s, and the local cash advance store.

I thought I’d have some fun a la Mrs. Fussypants and host a Caption That Inappropriate Photo Contest.

Here’s my stab at it:

“Granny feared she’d never qualify for the Spring Break 2009 Hot Mama Competition during Daytona Biker Week once her real age was printed in the local paper.”

The winner of the photo caption contest will receive a Break Out The Good Liquor, The Kids Are Back In School, Thank You Jesus book collection. I have several fun books that were sent to me this summer to review before it dawned on me that the only leisure reading I do is in 5-minute snippets while stuck in the grocery checkout line or every 8 weeks when I skim In Style at the hair salon. The winner will receive Mrs. Perfect (I read it and really enjoyed it) by Jane Porter, whose Flirting With 40 book is being made into a movie starring Heather Locklear; It’s All About Him, by Denise Jackson, wife to country music super star Alan Jackson; and HUMP: True Tales of Sex After Kids. I’ve got a few more to toss in the prize box, too.

See? Something for everyone.

I’ll close comments to this post midnight Saturday and with the help from the best friend we shall pick a winnah!

I had serious trouble falling asleep last night. Typically I get a Sunday case momsomnia as I think about the week ahead, but it hit me last night. Miss A had a run in with bullies for the first time on the daycare playground yesterday and it broke my heart to hear her talk about it. One boy, in particular, she kept mentioning by name. He was apparently teasing her and calling her a “baby.”

Little boy whose name starts with C?

I’M SO ON TO YOU PUNK.

As Miss A and I snuggled in her bed after story time last night she had a request.

“Mommy will you turn off my turtle lamp?” There is a white ceramic turtle lamp on her dresser that was mine as a little girl.

“Sure baby.”

“Those big boys make fun of my turtle lamp mommy?”

“Do you think they’d make fun of you because you sleep with the lamp on?”

“Yes.”

It dawned on me that the boys are not only targeting her because she is the newest and youngest member of the 3-year-olds’ class, but perhaps because her speech is easy to target. Miss A has trouble pronouncing her “Rs” properly. She says “wain” for rain, “wabbit” for rabbit, etc. She also sucks her thumb at nap time.

Miss C, taking on the role of big sister, was full of sage advice concerning playground social semantics (don’t get me started on the “boyfriend” chasing thing that is apparently the first grade girls’ idea of recreation as Miss C has not one, but two, beaus.) This morning she asked Miss A to come back to her bedroom. Because Miss C normally bans her baby sister from her bedroom, I stood outside her door, just in the hallway, so I could observe. She dug around in her dresser drawer and pulled out a sparkly fuchsia headband, one of her favorites. She expertly placed it on Miss A’s head “so the mean boy wouldn’t bother her.” Apparently bullies hate the blinding girl power of girly bling.

Now Miss A is my spunky girl, full of enough social moxie (not to mention herself) to work the toughest of crowds. I’ve never seen her discouraged about school and she’s been very excited about her new room and new teacher. This morning I kissed her on the cheek as she watched TV.

“No school for me today mommy?” Her big brown eyes looked up at me.

“You’ve got school today, and grandma day tomorrow!”

I reminded her that her daddy was taking her to school.

“Do you want daddy to say something to your teacher about the mean boys?”

She paused, plucked her thumb from her mouth, and said, “No, I DO IT!”

That’s my girl.

Yesterday we went for a Sunday afternoon drive in the country to a beautiful farm in Leipers Fork, Tennessee, that is owned by one of the hubby’s clients. The lovely Miss Connie, who works for the client and who I have heard about for years, was our hostess. She had made a a big batch of two kinds of cookies, plus the best strawberry jello Cool Whip concoction ever. How is it that I have made it to 39 years of age without ever having that stuff?

Besides the horses and ponies and barn cats, the big draw was the farm’s newest residents: two adorable 9-week-old Corgis. Little girls and puppies go together like Dora and Boots, like Captain and Tenille, like Jack and Coke.

Miss C and Mr. C, AKA Casey The Completely Adorable Puppy

Repeat after me, “We will not get another dog. We will not get another dog. We will not get another dog.”

Puppies, especially, are a lot of work, and not merely cute photo props. Not to mention the fact that we have a psycho old biddy dog who would probably pee in the puppy chow. She is the queen bitch of our house and her glorious reign of supreme psycho bitchiness will not be undermined by some sassy young stud who already knows his way with the ladies.

The girls left about an hour ago with my mother-in-law to spend the night and won’t be back until late tomorrow afternoon. The hubby and I are going out to dinner to a new sports pub and we’re going to watch the Titans game on TV.

I am home alone.

We are out of beer.

AND wine.

I’m pretty sure that’s a party foul.

I made it through day one of first grade without shedding a tear, but the next two days were a struggle. Now I know why so many moms wear sunglasses in the building.

I’ve been parking across the street from school and walking Miss C in all week. After I help her with her backpack and lunch box, I try not to linger. There’s a song that they start the day with, before the pledge of allegiance, before the school pledge, and as soon as I heard the opening strains over the intercom system, the tears began to well up in my eyes. Not just any tears, either. These are big fat mama’s mascara is streaking down her face tears. I walked out as fast as I could Tuesday and Wednesday to keep from bawling.

The song is On My Way by Phil Collins from the Brother Bear movie soundtrack. In case you’ve never heard it, here is a video from You Tube.

And here are the lyrics:

Tell everybody I’m on my way
New friends and new places to see
With blue skies ahead yes
I’m on my way
And there’s nowhere else
that I’d rather be

Tell everybody I’m on my way
And I’m loving every step I take
With the sun beating down yes
I’m on my way
And I can’t keep this smile off my face

‘Cause there’s nothing like seeing
each other again
No matter what the distance between
And the stories that we tell
will make you smile
Oh it really lifts my heart

So tell ‘em all I’m on my way
New friends and new places to see
And to sleep under the stars
Who could ask for more
With the moon keeping watch over me

Not the snow, not the rain
Can change my mind
The sun will come out, wait and see
And the feeling of the wind in your face
Can lift your heart
Oh there’s nowhere I would rather be

‘Cause I’m on my way now-
well and truly
I’m on my way now

(I’m on my way now)
REPEAT

Tell everybody I’m on my way
And I just can’t wait to be there
With blue skies ahead yes
I’m on my way
And nothing but good times to share

So tell everybody I’m on my way
And I just can’t wait to be home
With the sun beating down yes
I’m on my way
And nothing but good times to show
I’m on my way

Yes, I’m on my way

Did anyone else watch Greatest American Dog last night on CBS? We’ve never watched it, but we caught the tail end of it (heh) and I thought the girls might enjoy it. I couldn’t believe the melodrama of the judges. For the final challenge the dog owners and their pets had to create a painting using various techniques. One judge was so “professional” that she told a dog owner that her painting sucked. A painting…by a dog. Also, couldn’t a professional judge choose a better word than sucked? Apparently the judge thought the heart the dog painted looked like a pretzel. I would have trouble getting my 3-year-old child, much less a Pomeranian, to paint a perfect heart.

Speaking of dogs, this morning Miss C was sitting on her bedroom floor pulling tufts of fur off our Akita mix, Jack (it’s the kind of preening temptation you have when someone’s shoulders are peeling from sunburn). He’s shed enough lately to stuff a small sofa. I asked her to please stop, put the fur tufts in the trash, and wash her hands for breakfast.

“Oh mommy I just put his hair under here,” she says, pointing UNDER HER BED.

The White Trash Mom Handbook: Embrace Your Inner Trailerpark, Forget Perfection, Resist Assimilation Into the PTA, Stay Sane, and Keep Your Sense of Humor, by THE authority on not succumbing to the muffia Michelle Lamar and co-author Molly Wendland, was released last week and I’m proud to announce that BlondeMomBlog is featured in the “White Trash Mom’s Favorite Blogs and Websites” section.

White Trash Mom was one of the first blogs I discovered. It’s a hilarious, tongue-in-cheek site that pokes fun at all those Stepford Wife, type-A PTA moms who have a coronary if they don’t have time to color coordinate their dog’s monogrammed collar with their children’s monogrammed cardigan sweaters when out for a 10-minute neighborhood stroll.

I just bought the White Trash Mom Handbook and can’t wait to sit down and read it. I’m sure it will be a great time killer while I’m stuck in the carpool lane. Buy it today (it’s on sale at Amazon for less than a 12-pack of beer) for your best girlfriend, your sister-in-law about to pop out her fourth baby, or your neighbor who kicks your butt in Bunco and shares her best party dip recipes with you.

I had a White Trash Mom moment Sunday when we were getting ready to go to dinner for my birthday. I had chosen two pretty, twirly seersucker pastel sundresses for the girls to wear, pink for Miss C and lavender for Miss A, but Miss C is going through some sort of Hannah Montana girls rock phase and declared that she was wearing something “cool.” She dressed herself and her sister in outfits I would deem as very interesting. Heck, I even played along and wore a Hannah Montana headband. I decided to let it go and focus on the wonderful dinner, rather than the fact that my children were not looking like they’d been dressed from a boutique trunk show, but, rather, the clearance rack at WalMart. Any way, you smocking addicted Southern mama take heed. Once your little girl hits a certain age, she’d rather wear sequins than smocking.

Personally I think those White Trash Mom moments are God’s way of telling you to chill out and accept the fact that your children will turn out fine if they recite Sponge Bob verbatim, eat Pop Tarts, and tell total strangers that they just passed gas (which, of course, happened Monday during Miss A’s first dental appointment.)

So, have you had a White Trash Mom moment lately?

Win a copy of the White Trash Mom Handbook this week over at Blissfully Domestic!

Now if I can only remember to take her photo in this same spot every year, that would be pretty darn cool. Last year I forgot, cough, to take her photo on the first day of kindergarten. (I did get her picture on the second day, though.)